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This week I am (officially) annoyed at being in a relationship. Every time I try to have alone time or space it seems to be interrupted. And lately (more than usual) I have been feeling the stinging realization that I am not single. Like really not single. Like can’t escape into your own apartment single. Like we’re on a family cell phone plane together. Like we’re moving to New York come this spring together. Like, this is it, together.

I only feel this way when I’m trying to be creative or have some me time. The juices are flowing (so to speak) and my creativity is interrupted by “cat talk” –the cat person’s version of “baby talk.” I’m trying to read my New Yorker here.

my literal notes

I know it doesn’t seem important to you, but I’m absorbing something that I’ve worked to enjoy. I made dinner. I cleaned the dishes. I want to read TheNew Yorker without having the TV turned on next to me. Hearing “Ohhhh baby girl (to the cat), you’re so sweet. You’re the sweetest. Did you know that?” I’m trying to take notes (literally) on the Lowline Project, Emily Nussbaum, and a Tennessee William’s play I want to read. The TV blaring next to me really isn’t helping my cognitive absorption. I’m having a surge of creativity and inspiration, and I want to explore it…NOW. Not tend to your questions or your own blabbering. Plus, my anxiety of being behind 10-12 New Yorkers at any given time is not helping matters.

I think I’m being stupid.

I think I’m just being reactionary.

I know I’m on my period.

I know I need to get sexed* up.

But DAMNIT are all fleeting waves of complex annoying emotions the result of uterus hemorrhaging, or are they REAL? These are the First World questions that haunt me.

This weekend was my 1-year anniversary with Mr. M. I have been looking forward to giving him his small present for the past couple weeks.

I got crafty from a pin I fell in love with. Mr. M and I are big Instagram-ers, so I took one photo from each of the months we have been together and made a special magnet set. I thought I was being so clever.

I knew he would love it, and he did, but I was completely unprepared for what he was going to give me. Continue reading →

In my last post I left you guys hanging with cancer thoughts and flea infestations. And by you guys, I mean the three people who stumble upon this blog because they Google “Kate Winslet naked,” and this comes up. Welcome, friends!

I apologize for my leave of absence, but here I am now giving you the fun news.

Apparently I took a hiatus from blogging without knowing. Today marks 30 days since my last post, which to my knowledge, I have never done before. Apparently I was feeling uninspired. Or rather, I felt compelled to think more than write. But I’m back. And ready to rant and rave about all the relationship fixins that drive me crazy and keep my hungry for more. It’s a sick, sad world when your single, and even sicker/sadder when your taken. 😉

So what do I want to talk about after 30 days of silence? Something very big. VERY, VERY big.

As of this weekend I will no longer be 25.

26 is rearing it’s ugly head, and when I say ugly I really mean sexy. 26 is going to be sexy. I can feel it. It’s one letter off, six. sex. six. See? 26 doesn’t need reasons why it’s the shiat. It knows it is and just saying it makes it enough.

So who is going to be 25 single white female? I still am. Mostly because I bought the domain name, and I’m not really single anymore (unless I fill out a government form, and I still am)…so whatever, it’s all a mess. That’s the way I like it.

Speaking of the way I like it…some things are cookin’ in the proverbial kitchen but I can’t quite talk about them yet. Just let it be known, some serious changes may be coming down the way. And (as always) I will be taking you all with me. And hopefully Mr. M, too. 😀

The sickness has been going around. It leaves no stone unturned, no head unclogged. It’s a real doozy and for some reason I’m still not over it, but almost there. In the throws of awfulness I left work early last week and came home to a made bed (my ultimate favorite) and this…

a pillow note from Mr. M.

I’m tellin’ ya…ladies love notes! Random notes of affection and appreciation go further than you would think.

It wasn’t all pillow talk during my week of a compromised immune system. Mr. M and I had to have a real heart to heart about how I need someone to take care of me when I’m sick. Normally I’m all I-am-woman-hear-me-roar, but when I’m sick–all caution is thrown to the wind and I become a big baby. Just scoop me up because I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. It was a good opportunity for him to learn something about me. He felt bad after not living up to my previously un-relayed expectations and came home the other day and said he had been thinking. He decided that writing a manifesto to protest his desire and commitment to taking care of me was in order.

The L-word crept into my mind as he mentioned the manifesto. Who are you? Why do I get to keep you? After 2010, the year of heartache and angst, it’s really unbelievable that I made it out alive and then there was this guy.

Mr. M. Nobody is perfect. But I wasn’t looking for perfect anyways. I was looking for this guy.